


purple prose

by lyrasa



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Bloodvines Arc, Dream Smp, Dream escapes prison with the help of the egg but then also becomes possessed in the process, M/M, Maybe - Freeform, Prison Arc, but surprise George might be able to snap him out of it, the egg, you'll have to read and see
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 16:42:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29919825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyrasa/pseuds/lyrasa
Summary: In the dark, the hellfire heat of the obsidian walls, the crimson comes to him and offers him a deal.Power, it whispers, curling like a snake around his mind. Control. All you need to do is let me in. Together, this world could be ours.Dream asks it what it wants from him in return. The crimson laughs.Blue, it responds. The dull ache. I can take it away, the thing that makes your heart feel like it’s drowning.No attachment, it promises. No weaknesses.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Kudos: 65





	purple prose

**Author's Note:**

> Reposted because ao3 was having a few glitches. Hopefully this version works.

In the dark, the hellfire heat of the obsidian walls, the crimson comes to him and offers him a deal. 

_Power_ , it whispers, curling like a snake around his mind. _Control_. _All you need to do is let me in. Together, this world could be ours._

Dream asks it what it wants from him in return. The crimson laughs. 

_Blue,_ it responds. _The dull ache._ _I can take it away, the thing that makes your heart feel like it’s drowning._

_No attachment,_ it promises. _No weaknesses_.

Dream agrees. Dream gives in. Watches as the vines overrun the cracks in the obsidian and race towards him, wrapping him up, touching his skin, his body, his _mind._

It starts as a spark, a flicker and then, with a distant echo of a scream, it explodes into an inferno. 

He can feel _everything._

He breathes in and feels the land quiver with him. He exhales and the wind sighs with him. He’s never felt so complete, so torn, so in control, so paralysed. 

It _hurts_ , it hurts like hell. It feels like his blood is boiling in his veins. The screaming in his head is louder now. 

It takes him a second to realise that its his voice. 

He opens his eyes, all he can see is red. 

∷ **ᒷ** **↸**

He stands in front of people, and all he can see is _blue._ And it hurts, plucks at something deep within his chest. He rages, his anger bound tight within his physical body. 

He flexes, feels the tendrils of his gift caress the edge of his mind lovingly. Whispers curl around the edge of his thoughts like gathering storm clouds. He welcomes them. It dulls the blue. 

“Dream,” a figure says, stepping forward. Detached, Dream recognises the fire insignia, the set of his brow, the familiar questioning tone of his voice. His mind questions a faint pang of _brother_ skating across the forefront of his mind, the tendrils soothe him, whatever he recognises, it doesn’t matter now. “What the hell did you do to yourself.”

Dream grins, in the rush of adrenaline he relishes the crimson that pulses through his veins. “I’ve become better,” he says, twirling his axe. “You all can too. All you need to do is bow to us.”

It’s a short fight, all things considering. The crimson twists around him, assuring him of victory.But he’s still too human. Fallible, weak. Too engrossed in the bloodlust, the taste of ruby on his lips that he fails to notice the peculiarity, a lone man who refuses to participate in the mania, in the war, until it’s too late. 

The man is on the floor in front of him, he does not hold a weapon.

“It doesn’t hurt,” Dream says, lifting his sword. 

_Run_ , a far off corner of his mind screams. _Please run._

Distantly, Dream recognises that the man in front of him is crying. It’s silent, tears making their way down his cheeks. The tears are scattering, reflecting a sighing blue. Dream hates blue. 

_“_ Please,” the man says. “Please tell me you know who I am.”

Dream points his sword down at the man’s throat, presses in. The tendrils that sit between his thoughts scream at his to push down further, to eliminate the blue that sits heavy on his chest

“Dream,” the man murmurs, opening his eyes. The liquid brilliance of his gaze steals Dream’s breath from his burning lungs. There’s ruby on the edge of the sword, blood gathering along the sharp edges. His vision is edging scarlet, the vines twisting themselves around his thudding heart yearning for more red. 

His heart beats, just once, a deep, dark and lovely blue. 

Dream drops his sword. 

The man scrambles backwards instantly. Dream doesn’t react, rooted in place. The tendrils that once soothed him tighten their grip, they clutch at his heart, red tearing ferociously though his veins and arteries. He struggles against them, silently crying out. It hurts, it burns.

The man watches him, wary. Their eyes meet and the part of Dream stained that inky blue stretches into the silence between them. 

Suddenly behind him, a yell and a second later, a searing jolt of pain through his shoulder. Dream gasps, dropping to the ground. He touches his shoulder, it comes away red. 

His vision blurs, crimson-tinted. The air around him hums as he reacts on instinct, the vines purr as they welcome him back. His mouth tastes ash, there’s a fire roaring in his ears, the one holding a bow behind him screaming obscenities. 

He laughs, it weighs heavy and low in his chest, rumbles into the earth. The world hums and changes, vines emerge from the snowy ground, intent on finding, seeking, _destroying._

He finds a body later, brushes away the light covering of snow with a gentle caress of _red._ Beanie askew and mouth trickling scarlet, it shudders, eyes opening. Dream closes his eyes and rushes into the slowly cooling body. There’s little resistance as he journeys through the hills and valleys of the quickly fading soul, laying down a glittering light to re-animate the consciousness, leaving a vermillion path in his wake. 

He steps back, into his own physical form. He stands up and leaves. He smiles as he feels another consciousness join him in the crimson.

∷ **ᒷ** **↸**

What his enemies don’t realise is that he can hear them _everywhere_. 

He had naturally good hearing before his crimson communion of course, years of being on the run, chasing others through the forest and being chased himself. He doesn’t like to think about the times before, the memories dance cold along his teeth like laugher, tinged the pale cerulean of a forget-me-not.

Physically, he sits on a hill, overlooking a vast expanse of untouched land, in the distance an unfinished fortress looms around the source of the crimson. His magnum opus glows cherry like the embers of a fire on the horizon. 

Mentally, his mind darts along crimson pathways, running to something, or from something, he can’t quite decide what. 

He runs circles around a lone figure, sat on the roof of a ruined house in the middle of the lake. He watches as the man sighs, tipping his head back in the light breeze, staring up, unafraid, into the deep indigo speckled with pricks of light.

“What are you doing up here?” Dream feels rather than sees another presence set themselves down on the rooftop beside the man. 

For a second, Dream has a strange desire to take this newcomer’s place, to be the one beside the man on the rooftop, the blue of night cradling them in its embrace. 

The crimson vines curl around his soul flare up slightly, but not enough to wake them from their rest. 

“Just thinking,” the man on the rooftop replies. “Don’t worry about me Sapnap.”

_Sapnap_ , a brief wave assures him of the newcomer’s name. _Brother_ , it whispers, the teal word shivering through him, though not loud enough the alert the slumbering red. 

“He’s gone, you know that,” Sapnap says. 

“He’s not.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Sapnap grumbles, “he almost killed us. He killed Quackity. Please just _think_ for a second George.”

_George._ The name sits light in Dream’s chest. It feels like drowning, just below the shimmering azure of the surface. 

“He let me go,” George whispers, “You didn’t see his eyes.”

“Of course I saw them, they were _bright red_ George. The vines have consumed him. The Dream we know? He’s dead.”

“Beyond the red. I could see him. He was _screaming_ Sapnap, he was fighting it with everything he’s got.” 

“George,” Sapnap’s voice is laced with sorrow, a blue pity. “I know what he meant to you, but he’s gone.” 

“I know him,” George replies. The words so simple and yet they take Dream’s breath away. George upturns his face to the navy sky, “Dream’s still there.”

∷ **ᒷ** **↸**

“ _You said you’d follow me anywhere, is that still true?” Dream’s voice is hesitant into the soft night, scared of shattering whatever lies here between them._

_George turns to him, assessing. “I’d follow you to the ends of the earth if you ask me to.”_

∷ **ᒷ** **↸**

Another day, another battle. The resistance grows smaller now, weaker. Dream knows it’s only a matter of time until the land is overrun. Until the vines are all there is. Until all that aches, all that grieves is burnt up on the crimson pyre raging within him

He moves without thought, easy as breathing. The vines laugh and chatter around him, swarming up to move in tandem with his parries, his thrusts, his swings. He watches as people fall around him, seemingly at a whim. 

He’s never felt more like a god.

Dream smiles, high on the ruby rush, when a man steps in front of him.

“Dream _stop_ ,” he says. 

And Dream does. His sword still in mid-air. He follows the line of it to the quivering tip, suspended in the night.

“Dream, come back to me,” he says, whispering now. 

Dream drops the sword, he takes a step back. Another. In front of him, the man reaches out, the splendid navy of the twilight sky shining in his eyes. Dream can’t do anything, rooted to the spot, trying to hold on amidst the hurricane exploding inside him. The crimson claws and burns within him, fighting tooth and nail against a deep well, an unstoppable wave of blue. It floods the deepest parts of his being, blanketing, soothing, drowning. 

It’s too much, the violent violet war within him. He can’t take it. 

He can’t fight it, so he runs. 

The blue of the night chases him into oblivion, as the world around him flexes against its red restraints, humming a single word that washes away the crimson in a sapphire moment of clarity, a word that brings Dream to his knees. 

_George._

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this ages ago, but I'm just going through old fic documents on my laptop and seeing whether I can tidy them up and post them. Mostly wrote this with the intention of being a pretentious bitch (hence the title - also if you mix red and blue you make purple - I truly had too much fun with this). I might come back and mess around with the concept later once I've finished my two other WIPs - it's REALLY fun. 
> 
> As always, comments and kudos fuel me. Feedback is very welcome :)
> 
> Yell at me on tumblr: [lyrasa](https://lyrasa.tumblr.com)


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